Follow by Email

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

With that random, yet holy, date of five years looming just six months away, I received some great news from Long Island oncologist Dr. Paul Hyman of Bay Shore on the Great South Bay.
﻿﻿

Dr. Paul Hyman

﻿﻿﻿The doc, an avid Mets fan (in contrast to Dr. Lee Zehngebot of Orlando, an insanely avid Yankees fan) yesterday told me to come back in a year. I think that's the Holy Grail for cancer patients. It's the time, converging with that five-year mark, a Mets no-hitter after 50 years and the transit of Venus across the Sun, that means I'm out of the woods for all intents and purposes. It means my tests showed up looking good, all the numbers should be about where they are and all the dots are there and the T's crossed.

So Dr. Hyman looked over the bloodwork, added information to his practice's new computer and software upgrades and then said, "everything looks good." Ah. Magical words to a person who has pretty much gone through hell, looked Satan, or whomever he was, straight in the eyes, kneed him in the hoo-has and walked slowly back home.

So it's been a long, bumpy journey, and there's more, I'm sure, to come. But Dr. Hyman's proclamation that he doesn't need to see me until past my five-year-out date of late December means I'm that much closer to the light than to the dark. It means my expiration date has not yet arrived.﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿ ﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿

Dr. Phil Styne

﻿

Dr. Lee Zehngebot

﻿ ﻿Along this trek, there have been several ups and quite a few downs. I've lost my mother, gained two granddaughters and two sons-in-law, though one of those has since left the herd, gained three siblings and a bunch of nieces and nephews (see kohnzone.blogspot.com), and lost a couple of friends, one to this exact disease. I've met people via the interwebs with cancer of the esophagus who I later lost and I've made some remarkable friends, some in unexpected places, like hospitals and doctors' offices.
﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿

Dr. Joe Boyer

﻿ And though I tried to avoid doctors most of my life, it all caught up with me in September 2007, when I was diagnosed with cancer of the esophagus, which until that year was pretty much a death sentence, killing 87 percent of the people unfortunate enough to receive the diagnosis.

Dr. Z, Dr. Joe Boyer, Dr. Phil Styne and a cast of thousands at Florida Hospital in Orlando, thankfully, were all part of a conspiracy to save lives, working on a grand experiment, a series of trials to figure a way to up the odds for esophageal cancer patients. I lucked out and caught them after they doubled survivability to more than 30 percent via their participation in a major study by the Minnie Pearl Cancer Research Network. As Catherine put it, I'm one of the 30 percent.

﻿﻿

Dr. Z, for example, is not exactly a friend (never met outside of the office or hospital) though I do consider him one. But he is the man who almost more than anyone saved my life. (Yes, Joe Boyer was a big player, too, wielding a big scalpel and now a bunch of little robots even as he instructs at UCF and leads the thoractic surgical unit at Florida Hospital.)

Dr. Z and I have each other's cell numbers, and use them from time to time. He texted me a photo of him dropping down a slope on skis last year after one of his extreme vacations. I texted him yesterday in the car (no, I wasn't driving) after my visit with Dr. Hyman. I wrote: "Just saw oncologist who said all looks good and wants to see me in a year. Thank you for saving my life. Seriously."

And this die-hard, lifelong Yanks fan replies: "Anytime. You look better than the Yankees."

Newsman Keith Kohn, husband, dad of six, cousin and nephew to many and former night editor at the Orlando Sentinel who's now at Newsday, chronicles his journey from diagnosis with esophageal cancer through his treatments. He offers insights, tips and anecdotes to help others beginning a similar path. Feel free to submit helpful hints, clarifications and corrections with the goal of helping others.

Disclaimer

Please remember that I'm not a doctor and any advice given from me or those who write me are not intended to replace your doctor's directions. They are tips to use -- or to not use -- as you see fit and judge for yourself. Please do so wisely.

Contributors

Followers

Tips mentioned in this blog

Avoid drinks with a lot of electrolytes, such as GatorAde and the like. I can't swear the GatorAde I've been drinking caused my urinary tract infections, but they coincidentally appeared within a day of my drinking the popular sports drink. Might just be how it affects me, but might be how it interacts with chemo.

Keep a box of alcohol pads nearby. When you're nauseous, the smell of alcohol halts the nausea.

Don't stop being you. Allow yourself to be angry and upset, but also allow yourself twice as much to be happy and positive and encouraged. Don't feel sorry for yourself and don't allow people to feel sorry for you. And do not, under any circumstances, allow toxic, negative people to cloud your mind or your space with their negativity.

Allow yourself to get angry, upset, frustrated ... and don't ever feel bad about it. The people around you will understand.

Don't just stay away from the chocolate. Definitely and absolutely no coffee! No caffeine at all. It dehydrates. You need as much water as you can drink. Chicken broth sounds boring and not very appetizing, but it's important that you drink it as well. Also, apple juice is extremely acidic, so no apple juice if you're nauseous. In fact, nothing acidic.

Don't feel like you have to be 'on' all the time. It takes its toll, and you need all the strength you can get. You'll figure it out for yourself, what your comfort levels are, but just try not to feel that pressure.